


Here

by LadyRiot



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Feelings Realization, Hurt/Comfort, No Plot/Plotless, Post-Break Up, Romance, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-04 00:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21188645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRiot/pseuds/LadyRiot
Summary: She's alone and afraid she might stay so forever and here's Rory. Here she isagain."You can stay here, you know, if you want..."How 'Bridesmaids Revisited' and 'I'm OK, You're OK' should have gone.





	Here

1.

It starts like this; Paris opens her apartment door expecting a gruffy delivery man stinking of dirty frying oil and pork dumplings. But it's Rory, a sunrise peeking through the crack. Rory, standing under the dim hall light in a floor length gown, spaghetti straps delicate on her shoulders. She bounces from one foot to another as if waiting for Paris to bite her head off for being there. But for the first time since Doyle walked out this very door, Paris doesn't feel sick with missing him. She feels relief. Breath, again, finally. So she deflates, forgets being angry with Rory taking over as editor, the feeling of perhaps unintended betrayal, and opens the door to her oldest friend. Really, she has no other feasible option.

2.

Paris isn't an idiot. She's quite aware that Rory is often more than she deserves. Rory is sweet and soft and always there for her, even when she is standoffish and mean, lashing out. The fact that she's here after Paris had thrown her out, turned their friendship into yet another ice age... 

She's alone and afraid she might stay so forever and here's Rory. Here she is _ again _. And hugging her is like coming home. Like maybe the pieces of them are supposed to be so close. Paris sighs into the infrequently sought comfort and nothing else matters. There's no rivalry, no ulterior motive, just Rory's hands pressing against her back.

When they pull apart, Rory scrunches her nose.

"Well, in the name of full disclosure, I should tell you Logan and I broke up too," Rory says. "Today. I'm moving out.

"How come?"

"He cheated on me. With an entire wedding party," Rory says.

It sucks. Men suck. Paris wants to hug her again, give her some semblance of the comfort she'd felt moments earlier. The kind of comfort Rory had always managed to bring with just the slightest effort. Especially showing up for her when she didn't get into Harvard and all the painful moments afterwards. It had felt like she was falling off the earth until Rory let her lean on her shoulder and told her she was so smart and so special. Paris wants so badly to give some of that feeling back, so she commiserates, offers sentiments that things will get better and hopes like hell that she's not lying.

3.

It hits her mid hot-glue action. The repetition of bedazzling clothing she'll never wear is a comfort no longer. Her heartbeat pounds in her ears as her mind lingers over the exchange she and Rory had just inside the door. Suddenly her throat is full of bile. She stands sharply, rhinestones flying in her wake, and marches over to her half-open bedroom door. After excessive quantities of chinese food and shared apologies and acceptances, Rory had excused herself and Paris found herself at her crafts table yet again. But now things have to be different. Standing in the doorway, she makes her presence known.

"Did you only come because you needed a place to stay?"

Her voice is sharp and Rory's face clouds instantly. Paris's heart unwittingly sinks in response. Her guard rises up around her shoulders with a flash of hot anger, always easier for her to stomach than sadness. Rory's sitting curled over top of the blankets and she looks so small and fragile that Paris is almost sorry. But another wave of hurt hits her. She's used to feeling unwanted and burdensome, but not by Rory, at least not anymore.

She remembers, way back at Chilton, how she had started to trust Rory, started to consider her a friend and then everything got so messed up. Her secret was out there and the betrayal heavy in her chest and when she spoke it, Rory's eyes went wide like a doe, like she didn't know she'd become important in Paris's life. Are they still there?

"I thought you were my best friend," Paris mutters. "But, you know, I think... Do you even consider me _ your _ best friend?"

"Paris," Rory tries, voice slick with desperation. "Part of my coming here, yes, was because the thought of going back to Logan's disgusted me. But of all the places I could have crashed, I only wanted to stay with you. Even though you wouldn't look at me."

"Look, I don't know how you could think you're not my best friend. Maybe I'm bad at showing it. But I've been lost trying to find a way to get through to you, get you out of your funk and talking to me again. I missed you. I need you." Rory sighs, walking over and grasping Paris's hands in hers.

The anger falls from Paris like a dropped curtain, the tense hold of her shoulders giving way to the sound of Rory's voice and the soft warmth of her hands.

"Believe me, I thought you were going to turn me away. And I would've understood. So if you want me to go, I will," Rory says firmly.

Paris hates the hold Rory has over her, the way it makes her feel weak and powerless. She's helpless looking at her concerned face, hearing her appreciation. Always kinder to her than she knows how to be to herself.

"No, you can stay," Paris says. "I'm sorry."

"No, that was fair." Rory brushes it off.

Paris turns to go, but Rory's voice rings out and halts her.

"Please don't sleep at your crafts table again?" she asks. "We can share the bed or I could go sleep on the couch. Whatever you want."

There's something so appealing about not having to sleep alone, only cold air around her. The warmth of another body. The returning comfort of a familiar intimacy. She finds herself tentatively caving.

"Really?"

4.

It's hard not to appear too eager. There's a tingling promise in the air of something she can't place. All she knows is it feels nice and she wants more of it. For weeks, after Paris had thrown Rory out, she'd kept herself awake at night with anxieties crawling like creatures under her skin. She worried Rory would never speak to her again, she worried she'd die if that were true, she worried about her value as an editor and writer and scholar and student and friend and lover and every other role she'd played or imagined playing. But tonight, she may really find peace in slumber, body coiled close to Rory's for mere lack of anywhere else to go.

She busies herself with getting undressed, back turned on Rory as she slips out of her clothes and exchanges them for pyjamas. She takes her time with it, the hesitation in her head creeping into her movements. When she turns, Rory is standing by the bed looking lost.

"Which side do you sleep on?" Rory asks.

"The middle," Paris jokes. "You can take the side by the door. Emergency exit if I talk in my sleep or kick you."

They get into bed, only a narrow strip of open space between them. For several slow moments, Paris doesn't breathe. But Rory closes her eyes and sighs into her pillow and then everything is okay. Paris feels the body warmth of her bedmate and falls slowly to sleep. She doesn't talk, doesn't kick, just sleeps. And when she wakes, at a decent time rather than the middle of the night, Rory is still right there beside her.

5.

It takes him a week to show up begging. Rory shakes her head and her eyebrows come together and her voice is tight and shaky as she refuses to see him. Paris has it. She stalks over to the door, wrenches it open hard enough to feel the deadbolt chain resist, and doesn't even have to muster an unimpressed expression. She is unimpressed.

And she can finally say everything she thought about the guy that she would never say while they were together. She had unconsciously believed Rory's love would civilize him, just knock the bad habits right out of his psyche. She's better for having had Rory in her life and she thought _ she _ was hopeless. Logan should have done better.

She calls him a string of names, encouraged by Rory's response, and eventually he gives up.

Paris can't explain why she feels joy.

6.

Through some unspoken agreement, every night since the first, Paris and Rory have crawled into bed together. Some nights, they whispered back and forth about their days and their dreams and their disappointments. Paris figures it's something like one of those slumber parties she was never invited to. Some nights, they just laid down to sleep. But tonight, Rory hesitates in the doorway, her toes digging restlessly into the carpet.

She finally moves into the room, passing by Paris to get to her still half-packed boxes of clothes. She changes into pyjamas and slips into bed.

"Paris," she whispers. "About what you said to Logan earlier, thank you. I really appreciate you doing that for me."

"Of course," Paris says. _ You're my best friend _. 

Paris realizes with a jolt that she's lying to herself. There's a reason she's been drawn to Rory for approximately ever. There's a reason she's made comparisons between Rory and Disney princesses and woodland creatures. There's a reason her approach to rivalry was reciting a romantic Shakespeare sonnet directly into Rory's ear on a park bench.

_ I love her, _ Paris thinks. _ Fuck, I love her. _

For the first time since the silent arrangement to share a bed, Paris doesn't sleep at all.

7.

The bitter cold seeps into their home on the day Doyle comes for his belongings, almost as if he brings the draft in with him. Paris wraps her sweater tighter around her body and stands in the living room, watching him tape together boxes and make slow trips to the bedroom to pile his things within them. She makes no offer to help and somehow feels no pang of regret, even in her newfound loneliness. She just wants him gone and her space truly her own again. Hers and Rory's.

Rory had asked her if she wanted her here for this. But Paris felt as if Rory's presence would only weaken her resolve to let Doyle go without a fight. Rory standing with her, supporting her like a friend and not a lover, would be enough to change her mind, convince her that being with Doyle was better than longing after her best friend. But alone, she's strong willed and fiery in face of her ex. It's easier than she thought, watching him leave.

It doesn't take him long. He's never been a materialistic man. She'd liked that about him.

He moves all his boxes into the hall, lingers in the doorway. Hoping Paris will break the silence, he sighs loudly. But it doesn't work. She just crosses her arms over her chest and waits for what she knows is coming.

"We're supposed to be together, Paris," Doyle says. "You know it, I know it, your life coach knows it."

"No," Paris says, some small sympathy finally emerging. "We're not. I'm sorry."

"I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you," he insists.

Paris breaks, laughs bitterly. "Oh, then it's all uphill from here!"

He wants to argue, she sees his mouth moving over possible comebacks and all she can think of is Rory. Rory, who _ is _ the best thing that's ever happened to her. Who she loves. Who is the most important person in her life.

"Goodbye Doyle," she says.

The door is already closing so Doyle has no choice but to move through it, to get shut out.

8.

Paris is usually the first home. An early bird mentality has her choosing early morning courses and finishing classes in the afternoons. Except for Wednesdays. She has a compulsory credit for her major only offered in the evening. So these nights, when she gets home, Rory is there waiting. She doesn't expect this though. As soon as she pushes the door open, Rory is grasping her wrist and pulling her inside with a wide smile on her face.

"Come on, I got you something," Rory says.

She closes the door, engages the locks, and then is pulling Paris again towards the corner of the living room. Paris thinks it will be takeout or some embroidery thread, but not this. Not the thing they had spoken about on that night that Rory showed up that feels so far away now.

"You always wanted a treadmill."

Rory is smiling up to her eyes and down to her toes and Paris just can't help herself. She pushes up on her toes to match Rory's height and kisses her with all the tenderness she can offer. Rory is stiff under the press of her mouth and Paris begins a quick spiral into panic. She's ruined everything, can still feel the sharp bite of rejection from the last time she'd kissed her. All she can hear is _ 'get away from me' _ , _ 'not my type' _ , _ 'high maintenance' _ , _ 'high maintenance' _ , _ 'high maintenance' _. Then Rory's hand is on her cheek and holding her close and everything feels right, so right. And she could never get enough of this in forever.

Her cheeks colour when she hears her own whimper slip from her throat as they pull apart. But Rory is smiling and Paris is smiling and maybe this can work. Maybe the spark Paris feels isn't hers alone. Maybe here, together, is the one place they were meant to end up. Or at least, Paris can hope.


End file.
